


Wild Things

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, developing feelings, emotional proxies, good boys getting all the pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 19:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Hawthorne's emotional support falcon has some feelings. And he'd like everyone to get with the program.





	Wild Things

Amanda looks over at the bird. She and Cayde have been playing cards outside the Hunter Lounge this afternoon, seen Hawthorne, and flagged her down. The bird had turned up not too long after. 

“He’s been cheeky all day,” The Frontierswoman says, letting him perch on her wrist. He weighs hardly anything, half a kilo if he’s engorged himself on food, so she bends her arm inward, to regard him face to face. He turns away.

Looks at Cayde, who is reaching one hand towards him. Whatever look the Hunter Vanguard receives, it’s clearly frightening enough for him to twitch his hand back. “Okay, fine,” Cayde huffs. “Be that way.”

The peregrine lets out a mouthy cheep. A moment later, he flaps his wings incessantly and takes off. His handler shakes her head. “Birds,” She huffs, with a puff of hot air. “You’d think he’d been dumped or something, I haven’t seen him this moody in ages.”

“Want me to deal you in?” Amanda handles the deck of cards like a pro, much to the glee of Cayde, who loves anything flashy.

Suraya shrugs, looking between the two. “Does he cheat?”

The Shipwright looks to Cayde, who is making his most angelic of faces, save the eyebrow-plate waggle. “Not if he wants his sparrow to run.”

-/

Three hands later, Louis returns, looking just as dissatisfied.

“Wow,” Amanda says, when he picks at his wing and broods on his mother’s arm, “That must be some lady friend if he’s acting so dejected.”

Louis makes a pitiful sound in reply. Amanda reaches her hand out tentatively - Hawthorne has shown her how to do this, a handful of times - and carefully pets the bird. Cayde watches on, jealousy in his features. The last time he’d tried, Louis took his finger. And he wasn’t particularly inclined to give it back.

“It’s okay bud,” Cayde chimes in, in lieu of possibly being mauled, “Happens to me all the time. You’ll bounce back quick.”

“That’s uh,” Hawthorne and Amanda share an amused glance, “Not something you should be bragging about.”

“I’m trying to be supportive!”

“Don’t you listen to a word he says,” Amanda coos. Louis chitters, and his audience eats it right up. “You got way more mojo than him.”

“HEY!”

-/

It's a few hours later when Hawthorne trudges into Zavala's office for a meeting. They still have a great deal of people to rehome and supplies to allocate. Funds, the actual supplies necessary, all of it takes careful planning. Frivolity with their resources would be certain doom for many, but they cannot be stingy either.

They're sitting in relative silence. The faintest scratching of Hawthorne's pen against paper as she writes notes in the margin of her copies of their drafts has become a comforting familiarity. It's fine, until that sound is interrupted by the scratching rattle of his windowpane. It disturbs her from her thoughts.

He looks apologetic enough. "I have to get someone to look at that. I'm not sure what is going on."

She blinks up at him, eyes narrowed when it happens again. "How long has it been happening?"

"It started this morning. It will stop in a few moments. I believe it's the wind."

"Uh huh," She hums eloquently, not convinced. 

When she rises, he's right behind her. "I have already called a maintenance worker. Someone will rectify it. You do not have to-"

The sound of the window opening interrupts him. There is an indignant, furious cry, a tumble, strange flapping, and suddenly, Louis is in front of him, squawking.

"He's been acting like a brat all day," Hawthorne informs him with something rueful, a tiny smirk on her face, returning to her seat. "I thought he got shut down by a ladybird or something. Happened before. He's got a thing for ravens."

Louis swivels his head and chirps at her for that, annoyed. Then, he continues to flap about in front of the Commander, angry caws that subside into sad little cheeps.

"Why is he…" Zavala looks at her, but she drops her chin onto her arms, which are crossed in front of her, over her paperwork. Her dark eyes watch the bird of prey with something like surprise and awe.

"Louis," She begins, softer. It draws both of their attentions. "He didn't leave the window closed to keep you out."

The Peregrine turns all the way around to address her. He caws at her.

"Is that why he's-"

She sighs. He leans forward and nips the end of her nose, but it's clearly an affectionate gesture. "You think too much about things, birdbrain. He likes us just fine."

"He doesn't actually understand that, does he?"

Both bird and handler turn to regard him then, with sharp, sharp eyes.

"My apologies," he gruffs, immediately holding up both hands in surrender. "I've never-"

Louis scoots over to him in a little hop, more like a chickadee than a bird of prey. He butts the Commander's hand with the top of his head and makes a forlorn sound.

He looks to Hawthorne, still resting her head on her wrists, slouched on the table. She's watching them carefully, but she isn't concerned. He, on the other hand has no idea what he's doing.

"Your," He swallows as those black eyes look up at him, immediately honed in on the sound of his voice, the smart raptor knowing it's him Zavala's addressing. Louis's head tilts, as if to consider. "Mother-" Hawthorne dips her head. Okay. Not the wrong turn of phrase. Good. "Your mother was right. I was not trying to keep you out, that was not my intention."

He flaps his wings again, all brown and white, neither spotted nor striped on his underbelly and yet somehow both. His cry is insistent.

"He-"

"Of course," Zavala relents, looking down at the bird as if he'd spoken in common. "As long as I do not have a meeting, I will leave my window open." His eyes are still gentle, but they take a harder turn, his voice just the slightest bit more stern. "But, in return, you will not peck on my window if it is closed. Do we have a deal?"

There's a small chitter, like a hum, as the falcon seems to consider the Commander's offer. Hawthorne can't help it. She giggles.

"Go on," She tells her charge, when he looks back at her like she's interrupting something important. "That's a good offer. I'd take it."

She does not realize that Zavala is watching her, the way her eyes brighten yet stay so dark, the little crinkle of her forehead, between her eyebrows, the way her smile lessens the severity of her face. Louis draws his attention once more, leaning forward, beak parted slightly.

"Give him your knuckle." Hawthorne curls her index finger inward to show him what to do. He's telling you it's a deal."

Sure enough, he mimics the gesture and the bird nips him so gently it's barely a squeeze. He doesn't move away though.

"What does-"

"We should get back to work," The Clan Steward tells him, as if it's not her fault - her bird! - that derailed things in the first place. 

Louis protests.

Hawthorne reaches for him and he caws. "Okay fine. I won't rub your belly, you brat."

He turns to Zavala, cheeping again, soft-like.

"Oh," She realizes, tone changing to something betrayed. "You little traitor! You want him to-" She looks at Zavala now, her eyes narrowing. "You been bonding with my bird, Commander?"

He pauses, not sure if he's guilty or not. Then, "He did come to the barn often, when I was working on battle plans, for the war effort. I believe," Lewis is looking at him again with those deep, dark eyes, "I believe he liked the peace and quiet."

"Uh… huh." Suspicion flares anyway. "He seems pret-ty comfortable with you."

Before he can think better of it, he retorts, "Well, perhaps he's mirroring you."

Her poncho-covered head rockets up, no longer resting on her arms. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's just," He unknowingly digs himself into a deeper hole, "You seem rather comfortable."

Her face goes blank, and the way she holds herself indicates he's just drawn attention to something he absolutely should not have, not under any circumstances. "Do I?' She counters, her gaze cool.

Louis interjects with a firm chirp, crossing the table again to his mother. Chirps twice more.

There's a staring match happening over his head. Unacceptable. He screeches, LOUDLY, and both of them cover their ears.

_"Louis."_

Louis stops immediately, looking toward the source of the authoritative command, right at the same time as Hawthorne blurts, "Okay, fine! I'll admit it, he's not that bad."

Well. Louis looks between the two of them, each as hopeless as the other. He chitters at Zavala, a kind, understanding warning, and nips at the fringe of Hawthorne's sleeve, underside of his beak and the downy feathers of his belly against her hand before taking flight.

They stare at each other some more.

"So," Zavala hedges. "This paperwork-"

"Yes," Hawthorne agrees, taking up her pen. "Right."

They work in silence, unwilling to discuss what's just happened.

Moments - days, hours, minutes, all of it deafening - pass.

"You'll owe him belly pets. He doesn't forget." Hawthorne doesn't look up from her work, so he too forces his head back down. The words on the report in front of him could be encrypted, for how hard he's focusing on listening. "Start at his breast, not too close to the underside of his beak, and stroke down. Two knuckles, kind of like what you did before."

"I can do that," He confirms, softly.

"Stroke only in the direction of the feathers. He's can tell when you’re paying attention to him. If you lose focus while you're petting him and stop, he'll nip. And he'll only warn you once before he draws blood, trust me."

"Why are you-"

"Louis likes you," She says slowly, still keeping her eyes on her current page. He can't see what expression she's wearing, but a sneaked glance tells him she's not seeing what she's reading, either. "And if you're going to be friends, you ought to know what he likes."

There are several things he could say, but what comes out instead is a humble "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

-/

Three days later, Amanda nudges her from where they stand, backs to the traveler, looking out over the mountains. "He looks like he's back to normal."

"Yeah," Hawthorne agrees.

"So," Amanda elbows her, smirking slyly, "What happened with his lady friend?"

Louis swoops around in an elegant circle, away and back, an agile speck in the clear blue sky.

"What lady friend?"

Amanda kicks at the railing a bit. "You reckoned he got shut down. Isn't that what-"

She stops. Hawthorne isn't paying attention to her. Louis has changed trajectory, soaring over the Tower now, but low enough to avoid any errant jet turbines. She turns to follow him with her gaze. He cries out, loud, free, and swoops low, dive-bombing Cayde. 

The Hunter swivels around, no doubt looking for Hawthorne to yell at - likely to mention that Colonel is far better behaved. (That's a farce, Colonel is as much of an escape artist as Cayde tries to be. The Shipwright has plucked her out of many a cockpit in the last few months.) Therefore, Hawthorne and Amanda ignore him.

In the meantime, Louis lands on the railing that looks out over the Traveler, directly beside Zavala. He looks up at the stoic sentinel and trills a single note. Behind his back, Zavala's right hand pulls the glove off his left, hardly noticeable from his usual stance.

But then his hand comes up, impossibly strong, impossible gentle, knuckles grazing the peregrine's belly. Louis shudders and settles, letting out a satisfied, docile coo.

"He's really got a way with wild things," Amanda comments, not realizing the gravity of it. 

"Guess so," Hawthorne answers breezily, trying to ignore the way stomach flips.

He really, really does.


End file.
